“Where—where did that come from?” She was pointing to a three-bladed knife lying on a low bench.
“This,” the mandarin went on in his slow, melodious voice, “like all the rest, came from a temple. It is very old.”
“May—may I see it?” Jeanne’s heart throbbed painfully.
“Oh, yes, you may see.”
He held it out to her.
She did not take it. “That,” she said more to herself than to him, “is not the one. There are no jewels in the hilt, only gold.”
“No jewels?” The small eyes narrowed.
“You have seen one set with jewels, diamonds and rubies?”
“Only yesterday.”
“And where is it now?” The mandarin strove in vain to maintain his Oriental calm.